Today, she met me brooding in low spirits. She’d come at better times.
I was going through the he-motions of a young adult, sailing in tune to the topsy turvy throes of soul weather. Everything had been fine for a minute and then my hormones decided to darken my barely blue skies.
I wasn’t sure why I feeling well but I could make an educated guess; the epic battle of soul and spirit was beginning to unfold and chei! My body was in the centre of it all
The goddess sat by me, looking gloom herself. The day hadn’t been so good.
Distant memories of our discussions reminded me of her own battles for self-identity. She had been through several social rites and only seemed to lose a little bit more of herself everytime she found another paradigm to explore. The tunnels of erudition were gradually losing their appeal.
She looked at me, smiled from the depths of her misery and she was gone.
I picked up what she left beside me, and beat a yellow tune on my gong,
AfroSays:
SWINGING ALONG
Hands tossed carelessly, we’re swinging along
Never really caring where we truly belong
In search of everything that’s nothing,
Singing “viva the country”
Every man for himself, each to his devices
Each to his tent, a home for his vices
But he’s lost his voice to the echo
He’s masked for roles
Clothed in clothes
His human is not good enough to show
Evolving back to zero, part of a lost herd
Who chooses from among them a lost head
To lead lost people further into oblivion
Masquerades totalling six billion
The eccentric are wise enough to stay on tangent,
Else, they become the target
Give us barney, we’d kill Jesus
Give us Luther, we kill zealots
Give us anything but freedom
We’re loving the war on wisdom
I’m searching for me, society took my compass
I can’t read maps and there are no batteries in my flashlight
But I’d trust the milestones of greatness, I’d follow where these blodied pavements lead
I’m tired of swinging along!
Afrosays to me 